by Willow Wilde
“I'll go to bed later. You go get your rest.” I got up to wander back to the window again, settling down in the chair.
“Alright,” she reluctantly told me. “Don't stay up too late. If this is gone by morning, I don't want you exhausted and bitchy all day.”
“I'll be bitchy whenever I damned well please. Now scram!” My devious smirk made her shake her head with a smile, and she disappeared around the corner and upstairs.
My gaze returned to the window. I couldn't help but think about Ben's story...I mean, it was totally irrational. That kind of stuff, the whole “shifter”, “natives up in the mountains” thing...I'd stopped believing in crap like that when I grew up. The most spiritual experience I'd ever had was getting my hands on a vibrator. But I couldn't get the thought out of my head...how cool would it be if that was the case? An old tribe with a bunch of paranormal bear dudes around, fighting the mountain lions and lording over the peaks.
Well, it would also be a total pain in the ass to get out of this storm, I thought to myself. What did the natives need to break it again?
The answer pinged into my head. Oh, right. Women.
“Care for some company?” I heard the deep voice of a burly man behind me, and turned my head. Ben was standing close, a pair of tumblers in his fists. He extended one out to me, and after a brief moment of hesitation, I took it from him.
“I'm not 21,” I frowned, my eyes focused on the portion of dark, telltale fluid in my glass.
“So don't tell anyone,” he smiled warmly.
I flitted the tumbler beneath my nostrils. I didn't recognize the amber liquor, but it wafted a light, earthy scent that had a tinge of something sweet.
“Don't worry, it's fine. Just a little something I rummaged up from the basement. Among other important things, there's a stocked liquor cabinet down there...for times like this.” He sipped from his drink and took a seat in the armchair beside me.
“So, you guys aren't guests,” I noted.
Ben chuckled. “No, we aren't.” His warm smile spread beneath his beard, and he eyed me mischievously.
“So you work on the staff?”
“Not strictly,” he answered, watching for my reaction. “We sort of own this resort.”
“You're the owner!?” My jaw dropped. “No way!”
“All five of us, yes. Our family has owned this land for quite some time. It was our father who decided to build the resort.”
“Whoa...you guys must be loaded,” I wondered aloud.
“Actually, no. He wished to reinvest the vast majority of the profits into conservation, protecting these mountains and their forests. Seeing as we live primarily off the land and have no need for vast amounts of money, it wasn't even a discussion for us to keep that legacy strong.” He took another swig from his drink.
“You live off the land? What do you mean?” My curiosity deepened. “Are you guys like those weirdoes who drop civilized life and disappear into the woods?”
Ben let out a roar of laughter. As his large chest bounced, I spotted four others approaching from the direction of the stairs – undoubtedly his brothers. Peter was among them, and they all had grins on their faces.
“No, it's nothing like that,” Ben continued. “You see, although we don't look it, we have a certain...ancestry. My grandfather was native to these lands, and although the physical parts of it are primarily recessive in our genes...our shifter blood is strong.”
The other four had formed a semi-circle around him now, as he sat in his chair beside me. They were all clearly related: the same burly builds, thick beards, large chests, and broad shoulders. In the semi-darkness, they even seemed to share peculiarly sharp, green eyes. But as I noticed these highly attractive similarities, a small ping of recognition fired off inside my brain.
Shifter blood?
It dawned on me. “There's no way,” I told him. “That whole little spiel of yours earlier, about the natives and the bears...that can’t be true.”
“It is,” Peter piped up. “The storm is here because it's time for us to mate...for the next generation of us to arrive.”
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-Willow Wilde
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